Life Worth Living
by controlled climb
Summary: Ginny Weasley, star chaser for the Harpies, is bested by an obnoxious ref who's obviously out to get her. T for light language.


**Written for the Bizarre Pairings or the Works Challenge.

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Ginny Weasley gave an irritated snort as the referee blew his whistle. What had she done this time? It was as if she was walking on thin ice. She had never been in a game where she'd been called up so many times before. Turning sharply on her broom, she glared at the referee. Biting her tongue to stop a sharp comment from slipping out, she waited expectantly for an explanation.

"Weasley," Marcus Flint sighed dramatically as he called his ruling. "Blagging."

Her cheeks flushed bright red, and she sucked in air through her teeth in irritation. "I didn't touch –"

Katie Bell, and old friend that had only just recently joined the Harpies, flew near Ginny, hushing her immediately. "Don't, Gin."

She had known what she was going to say, and was determined to make sure that Ginny did not get herself kicked off. If they were going to beat the Haileybury Hammers, they needed her on the team. Arguing with the referee, was one sure fire way to get kicked off.

"Look," Katie hissed, flicking her brown hair back as she glared at Ginny. She felt a pang of sympathy for the younger girl, and continued in a kinder tone. "I know that you just broke up with Harry, but please, Ginny. Suck it up, will you?"

Hearing those words made Ginny's temper flare, and any hatred that she had felt towards Marcus Flint was transferred to Katie. How dare she? How dare she mention that name? Damn him! He wasn't important. Ginny gritted her teeth. It was time to get her head in the game.

With the wind whipping through her hair, Ginny clutched at the quaffle, preparing herself to score a goal. Perhaps if she went right, and then flung the quaffle through the middle goal… Yes, Ginny decided. That would work for now. If anything went wrong, she could always improvise. Narrowing her eyes, she focused on her goal. Yes… yes… only a little bit closer…

… The whistle blew. For a few fleeting moments, Ginny had thought that it was indicating that a goal and been scored. That was, until she realized that the brown ball was still in her hands. Gritting her teeth, she turned to the referee once more. She was about to snap, but the warning glare that she received for Katie was enough to keep her trap shut.

"Stooging. Only one chaser in the scoring zone, Weasley," Marcus said flippantly, pointing at Tiffany Goldstone, who was also in the scoring zone. The petite blonde girl shrugged apologetically at Ginny, before speeding away, ready to get defensive.

Ginny groaned – out loud this time – but handed over the quaffle anyway. There was no point in arguing. If she made things difficult she would get a talk from the team, and that was something she'd rather avoid. She could feel the several pairs of eyes on her as she went into defence mode, and she tensed.

Five minutes later the whistle blew. It was going to be a long game.

"Sweet Merlin, Weasley," Tiffany Goldstone stormed into the changing rooms, her fists shaking with rage. "What the hell was that?"

"That," Ginny replied dryly, pulling her thick socks off and stuff them into her bag. "Was Marcus Flint being a sodding arse."

"Don't want to hear it, Weasley," Tiffany retorted. "He's the referee. Get over yourself. We lose the next match and it's your head. Got it?"

The threat was said in such a way that only a quidditch captain could pull off, and Ginny frowned, nodding in repent. How she hated him right now. Both of hims, that is. Blasted Harry Potter and his lead-Ginny-on-for-the-hell-of-it ways. Damn Marcus Flint and his let's-make-everyone-hate-Ginny ways. Ginny pursed her lips tightly, and turned to her locker, determined not to let anyone see her cry.

She sauntered out the dressing room, keeping her head held high. She might not have Harry Potter hanging off her arm any more, but she still had her pride. She hoped.

"Weasley!"

She turned to her name being called, her breath hitching in her throat as she realized who had requested her attention.

"Flint," she replied coldly. "Brilliant reffing."

The sarcasm dripped of her lips, and he visibly flinched. It took him a few moments, but a snappy reply did come. "Learn the rules, Weasel. Maybe then you'll stop breaking them."

"I didn't break any. That was you being delusional."

Taking a bold step closer to the enraged player, Marcus squared his shoulders, looking her straight in the eyes. "I'm a good referee, Weasel. You know it."

She did know that – only because it was a well known fact in the quidditch world, but there was no way the she was going to admit that to the uptight, conceited, nasty, malevolent, spiteful, hor –.

"Come on, Weasley," he taunted, his eyes gleaming with artificial amusement. "You're a Gryffindor aren't you? Be brave and admit you're wrong. Use that courage of yours and admit that I'm brilliant."

"Wouldn't want to lie," Ginny countered effortlessly. She had had word banter with many Slytherins before, and prided herself in knowing how to play the game. Quick. Snappy. Perfect.

Marcus sighed, tiring slightly. He didn't have time to do this all day.

"I've played a lot of quidditch, Weasley. I know the rules," he said, the unkind tone now nonexistent in his voice. He thought for a few moments before adding with a shrug, "For the record, you did alright. For a Gryffindor."

Ginny couldn't help but stare as he walked away from her. Did… did he just compliment her? On her quidditch playing skills, no less? No, that would be impossible.

"Flint," she called, before she could help herself. "The keyword there was played."

A flicker of hurt crossed in his eyes, and she could have bitten her tongue. Since when did she become so cruel? She knew that the incident with the bludger had landed him in St. Mungos for months. She knew that he could probably never play quidditch again – not without help, at least. And who would help him? Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine life without the glorious sport.

Nothing.

A blank image was all that came to mind. Taking in a deep breath, Ginny leaned against the stonewall of the changing room. Her eyes caught sight of the three magnificent golden hoops, and she felt her breath catch in her throat. She wasn't a mean person. Well, she didn't think she was. But if she wasn't, what was the remark to Flint all about? Oh yes. Because he deserved it. Fancy that, using those rules against her… Only the referees that were absolutely barking called the stooging rule. And that was because it was almost impossible to tell. So why on earth was she even thinking of apologizing? Maybe it was because she felt that little bit bad for him, because, really, quidditch is her life, and maybe it was his too.

It was four days later when she finally gathered up her Gryffindor spirit and apologized. It was a simple letter – she didn't dare say anything out loud. Merlin knows how the press would have taken it.

"… And Weasley," Tiffany glared at the younger player. "Flint's reffing."

The two simple words were meant as a warning. A gulp rose in Ginny's throat as she remembered the previous threat, and she nodded quickly before grabbing her broom and making her way onto the pitch.

For a few fleeting moments, her eyes locked with Marcus, but she tore her gaze away after a few moments.

"Got that letter," Marcus said.

"I've got a game to play," Ginny replied, leaping onto her broom and speeding into the air, joining her fellow teammates.

"Damn right, she's playing a bloody game," Marcus muttered into thin air, as he knelt down to prepare the quaffle, snitch and bludgers. He was used to toying girls. When being placed in a house like Slytherin, you just adapted to devious nature, and when it came to you in the form of a pretty girl, you knew that there was something just that little bit off mark.

"What did I do this time?" Ginny asked, her eyes flashing dangerously as she whirled around to face Marcus after yet another whistle had been blown.

Ignoring her, he addressed the all the players. "Cobbing, Goldstone."

"You'd know all about that, Flint," Ginny hissed, remembering an incident that had involved him and Angelina Johnson back in second year.

"Play the game, Weasley," Marcus replied, flinging the quaffle in the air.

Her anger failed to simmer as the game wore on. The whistle was blown time and time again, and before long players from both teams were glaring at Marcus with hatred in their eyes. This didn't faze him though, and his harsh judgements kept coming.

"Weasley! Blurting!"

"Lay off, Flint," she muttered under her breath, hoping to Merlin that he wouldn't hear her. "Flint," she began again, putting on a sickeningly sweet voice. "Don't you think you're being a little bit… well, harsh?"

"No," he said bluntly in reply.

Fluttering her eyelids, Ginny went for a different approach. "Marcus…" she trailed off, her eyes darting around for a bit before she lowered her voice and continued. "Please, please don't be so harsh."

"Nice try, Weasley."

"What does it take with you?" Her patience was coming to a fast end. "If you keep this up, nobody will win."

"If your teammates bothered to follow rules, maybe you'd have more playing time."

"We'll have playing time alright," Ginny snapped. "We'll be playing into bloody next year if you keep blowing that damn whistle."

"Follow the rules."

Giving a sigh of annoyance, she rolled her eyes. "You never cared for the rules when you played, Flint."

With that, she zoomed away. The rain was pelting down, but she hardly noticed it. Her hair was plastered across her face, and her knuckles were turning white from clenching onto her broom for so long. If only one of the seekers would catch the snitch already. It didn't matter whom – she just wanted this game to end.

It was hours later when her wish was granted. The Harpies won, but the victory was short lived as the team dragged their tired bodies into the changing room.

"Sweet Merlin," Tiffany gasped, using her favourite saying. "That was horrid. Good job, girls."

A series of grumbles was the only reply she received, and she dismissed them with a flick of her hand.

"Wait, Weasley," she gripped onto Ginny's arm as she made her way towards her locker. "I know what you mean about Flint now. He's a right foul –"

"Don't be daft," Ginny interrupted, tugging her arm away. "We should have followed the rules."

She could feel Tiffany's lingering gaze on her as she tugged her jersey off, and she didn't blame her. Only a few days ago, she was cursing Flint's reffing to oblivion, and now she was… complimenting it? Well, it was certainly a turning of the tables at any rate.

She found Marcus after the match. He was exactly where he had been after the first match – lingering a good few metres away from the changing rooms. Leaning against the wall, she cocked her head in curiosity.

"What are you doing, Flint?" she asked finally, breaking the silence that hung between them.

"Waiting."

"I can see that. But for what?"

"You."

"Really now? I thought you'd be listening in on my team giving me a tongue-lashing. That's what you were aiming for, right?" She didn't mention that her team had been too tired to even think of her, and silence filled the air. Ginny looked up, believing that maybe – just maybe – he really been waiting for her. It was when she saw a flash of pity in his eyes, she snapped. "I'm not a pitiful person, Flint. Therefore I do not deserve to be pitied."

"Why would I pity you? Other than coming from such an unfortunate family, of course," Marcus raised his eyebrows. "I envy you, if anything."

"For having a family that cares?"

"For having a life."

Remembering how she had tried so hard to imagine life without quidditch, she felt a pang of sympathy. "Marcus –"

"Not a pitiful person, Weasley."

Ginny smiled weakly at him. "You could have a life. You could have a great life."

"You're optimistic."

"Realistic," she corrected. "There are ways you could play again, you know," she added quietly, in a voice barely above a whisper.

"So I've been told. Not safe by myself though," Marcus said, sounding almost upset. Almost.

"I could help you."

"I lost my balance, Weasel. You're not nearly strong enough to help me."

"You'd be surprised."

"Wouldn't accept help from a blood traitor."

"You've got no choice."

Ginny wasn't sure what had possessed her to say that, but as soon as the words had left her mouth, she knew that she had said the right thing. In Marcus' world, it was true. It was either to accept help from the blood traitor or to live the rest of his life… not really living. She knew that he would agree now, but that didn't stop her heart from somersaulting at his nod.

Whether he liked it or not, Marcus Flint would be spending a lot of time with Ginny Weasley in the future.

Oh, sod it. She was going to make sure he enjoyed it – and not only the flying.

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**Terms Used:**

**Blagging: **Seizing the opponents broom in order to make them fly slower, or to hinder their performance.

**Stooging: **No more than one chaser is allowed in the goal scoring area.

**Cobbing: **Excessive use of the elbows against opponents.

**Blurting: **Locking broom handles with intent to steer the opponent off course.

Thank you, Wikipedia!


End file.
